


The Wild Hunt Adopts the Blackthorns (The Clave Doesn't Deserve Them)

by LilyChenAppreciationSociety



Category: Dark Artifices Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: M/M, Written Pre Lady Midnight, too long
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-29 20:10:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6391576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyChenAppreciationSociety/pseuds/LilyChenAppreciationSociety
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A pre Lady Midnight attempt to get the Blackthorns away from the Clave and somewhere healthier, like with the murder horde. Also one of my earlier explorations of whatever is going on with Mark and Kieran.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wild Hunt Adopts the Blackthorns (The Clave Doesn't Deserve Them)

**Author's Note:**

> Originally notated  
> "I’m pretty sure I want this thing engraved on my tombstone. Not all of it, just you know, “Annie, Once Wrote Ten Thousand Words Based Off Of A Months Old Text Post.”
> 
> Credit to @andrew-blckthorn for the original idea (The Hunt should just adopt the Blackthorns) which I then took way to far since it gave me a chance to try to do my own take on the Wild Hunt, a little more Germanic influenced and a lot more Wikipedia influenced. 
> 
> Set some short time after things happen like maybe they might in Lady Midnight but real more quiet. The Unseelie Court gets their due and then some, Mark decides to stay with his family, but the Clave is really not happy. Really not happy. And then thing snowball in such a way that the events of the fic occur. I didn’t fuss enough with the premise.
> 
> I really hope this isn’t too much of a mess. Characterization of barely introduced characters is hard."
> 
> Originally posted to (http://marcythewerewolf.tumblr.com/post/140210545198/)

The Wild Hunt was sedate. They had guests after all. The Blackthorns sat at Gwyn Ap Nudd’s table, while distant yards away from them steeds were calmed and Hunters peered warily at their visitors from the edges of the wide clearing. An ex-Hunter and seven of his closest relative, plus one aggressive blonde girl who had just gotten into a duel-cum-wrestling match with Gwyn, well, that wasn’t something that happened very often. Ex-Hunters weren’t something that happened very often.

For their part the Blackthorns were just as stony, although that might have been the shock, still fading even after nearly a day. Dru still refused to be parted from Helen, while Tavvy was more suspicious and clinging to Julian, who was trying to calm Uncle Arthur, who, despite everyone’s best efforts, was having a minor breakdown. Seeking safe haven from the Faeries when you still have nightmares of them invading your home with the intent to slaughter you was the sort of thing that shook a man. Arthur was at least trying to contain his clear distress.

Ty was looking around with clear curiosity, and Livvy was still nursing her injuries from their run in with the Clave, which left Emma and Mark to deal with diplomacy. While not the traditional ambassadors, Mark seemed to have Gwyn’s good favour already and Emma’s short but eventful fight with him over her right to be extended the Blackthorn’s safe haven seemed to have won her a modicum of respect as well as the tangled nest of leaves in her hair.

“You understand, Mark, that this is not a place for children.” Gwyn said in a friendly tone, his mismatched eyes bright. “The Unseelie King’s regard is no small thing, and so as he asked you will have protection among us, but I cannot promise your kinsfolk will be happy with the hospitality we can provide.”

“As I recall the Unseelie King offered you much more than regard.” Mark said. “And I know you consider the opportunity to upset the Clave worth far more than gold. We will be fine.”

“The Shadowhunters’ disapproval is as lethal as it is satisfying.” Gwyn noted. “Your ties to us give us an excuse to harbour you, but there will be reprisals however well we defend ourselves. We must move. You, we know, can live a hunter’s life, but your fair sister? Your uncle? One of your number is still an infant even by your reckoning, and the rest are not yet of age.”

“We’re all Shadowhunters.” Emma said sharply. “We’ll manage.”

Gwyn inclined his head. “As you say, warrior girl. We can make some concessions, but the Hunt is not a home for runaways, and we have few women among us, much less girl children.”

‘I’m older than Mark was when you took him.” Emma retorted. “Livvy is nearly the same age. And Dru is tough. Like I said, we’ll manage, and like Mark said, it’s not like you’re not getting something out of it.”

Mark waved a hand as if to smooth over the tension. “The Clave has betrayed us, Gwyn. You said it yourself, we are runaways. And a Hunter should know how strong and swift the pursued can be. Give us a tent at night, mortal food, and some help keeping pace, and we will not be much of a burden.”

“And a healer for your sister and uncle.” Gwyn observed. “Fresh clothing that does not scream Nephilim to everyone who sees it, a hair brush for the warrior girl so that she does not upset the more conscientious among the Hunt. Yet you are right, Mark, we can provide for you if you are willing to stay.”

“We are.” Mark confirmed.

Gwyn raised a warning hand. “Each one of you must give your consent.”

He wanted a safe guard, Mark realized, something he could show if the Clave came knocking. Here are your brave warriors, your precious children, so terrified of you that they willing come to us for sanctuary. And like the Unseelie King, he liked the opportunity to upset the Clave despite the potential for disaster and wanted to milk it for all it was worth. Even among the highest of the high, faeries had a penchant for mischief, only when they did it it was called politics.

“I consent to be sheltered by the Wild Hunt, under the laws of guest right, until we part ways.” Mark said, measuring each word, and then looking to Uncle Arthur to make sure he hadn’t left anything out. Arthur looked windblown, but he gave Mark a weak nod of approval.

Emma was visibly suspicious, and turned to Jules for reassurance. Julian looked to Mark, and Mark tried to look encouraging.

“We don’t have much choice, Em.” Julian whispered, then turned to Gywn. “I consent on the same terms as my older brother. Thank you for your hospitality.”

Livvy, ever proud and willing to take the plunge so others wouldn’t have to, was next. “I agree too.” she snapped, as if hesitation would weaken her will. She was so brave, his practical little sister.

“I consent as well then.” Emma agreed.

Livvy poked Ty with her good arm, but before he could speak Helen raised her head. The tear tracks down her cheeks had long since dried, but she still looked like a woman in mourning. She hadn’t taken it well, having to leave Aline, even with Aline pushing her out the door, even knowing that she had to flee with her family or be held responsible for their actions, and that to take the Consul’s daughter with them would bring the Clave even harder down on their heads.

“You took my brother.” Helen said slowly, in a voice so much more weary than the one Mark remembered. “And that will never be forgotten, but I thank you for your kindness now. I consent to the terms laid out.”

“Me too.” Dru said in a soft voice. Mark wasn’t sure if it was fear or wonder that had quieted her so.

Ty looked irate as he was cut off again, this time by Julian gently nudging Tavvy. “Tav, can you say that you consent to stay here with the Wild Hunt, for a little bit?”

“I want-” Tavvy started. Dru reached over and hugged his arm.

“We have to stay here for a bit, okay?” she said reassuringly. “Just say it’s okay. You don’t have to like it.”

Tavvy wavered under Gwyn’s expectant gaze. The leader of the Wild Hunt looked amused. Mark was used to him, but he still felt offended that his baby brother, forced out of his home and on the run, was being treated so lightly.

“We can stay here.” Tavvy said slowly. “I consent.” He hid behind Julian, and Helen and Dru scooted closer to cover him.

“I consent as well, according to my brother Mark’s agreement.” Ty said, proud as Livvy and sounding like he had rehearsed it a few times in his head.

That only left Uncle Arthur. Mark felt his heart sink. Arthur was stubborn, and he wasn’t about to do anything he didn’t want to. And he did look sad as he surveyed his nieces and nephews (and Emma).

“I see we have no choice, do we?” Arthur said.

Gwyn shrugged. “You could try to escape the Clave on your own, Shadowhunter. I am making it a point to hold none of you prisoner.”

“This time.” Arthur quipped. “But you are right, we have a choice and yet it is no choice at all. I consent to this arrangement, night’s son, and I am grateful for your willingness to help us in this time of need.”

Mark saw Julian start breathing again as Uncle Arthur sat down, with less grace than his eloquent acceptance might have suggested. He looked pale as the grave, as if saying the words had physically hurt him and Ty patted his hand with more caution than he used around poisonous snakes.

Gwyn smiled mildly, which made his fair face look unsettling. Mark preferred him taciturn or intent or full of emotion, gentle content didn’t suit him, however often he wore it. “It is settled then. We will camp here for the evening and ride later. For now, you can rest here, I have some arrangements to make- greetings, Kieran.”

Mark turned. The faerie prince was standing stiffly outside of Gwyn’s rough pavilion of nearby trees twisting together with hides to form a low shelter that still let in light.

“Kieran, I hope you have seen the guests your father sent to us.”

“I was not aware that the Hunt was in the trade of taking in lost angel’s children.” Kieran remarked, voice frosty.

“These are strange time indeed, princeling.” Gwyn agreed, still smiling his upsetting smile. “But Mark asked, and so did your Lord Father, and I am not one to ignore a boon if given or a debt that must be repaid. Now, you have the news I asked for?”

Kieran nodded and Gwyn followed him out of the pavilion. He hadn’t looked at Mark once, and it was both a relief and a cause of deep dissatisfaction.

Emma crossed her arms. “Well, we’ve made our bed.” she said.

Julian yawned. “Let’s just hope it has lots of pillows.”

* * *

 

Helen was so much older, even after a day or two in her company, getting used to her again, Mark was still struck by it. She was his sister, his closest companion, his only true peer in his childhood world where everyone else was of far less chaotic blood.

Five years took their toll, and he saw the way her face had finally finished growing up, any traces of babyhood gone. How the planes of her had sharpened, making her look more faerie than ever before. How she had lost weight, out there in exile. Where she had once sportd a year round tan, now her skin was pale, bleached by Arctic winters.

He saw a wisdom too, one that far outstripped his own. They had never been too far apart, Mark tripping just a few years behind her through puberty, but now she was an adult and he was still mostly a child, two years of age difference turned into five.

They still had their voices, though, and they were both together again, and that was enough. The Blackthorns huddled in the plain pavilion, regrouping and resettling themselves. They reapplied iratzes to Livvy’s arm and side, which seemed to be healing well, and Ty occupied Uncle Arthur and Dru with a game of Roman emperors. Dru might have despised languages, but she liked her tales of intrigue and power. Tavvy wandered over to Helen, still wary of this not quite stranger, and settled next to her as she and Mark talked quietly.

This proved to be something of a roadblock to any chance of discussing where they could go from their current position, and Helen deftly managed a conversation about the most ridiculous things she could think up, weather and fish and the names of the trees around them.

“How are you doing?” Mark asked her when Tavvy returned to Julian and Emma.

“I miss her.” Helen said softly. “But I am so glad to have you safe again.”

It struck Mark again, what Helen had given up to follow her family, and even worse, that she never had much of a choice. “I missed you too.” he said, for what was probably the thousandth time. “And I swear, if it’s within my power, you’ll see Aline again.”

Helen flinched. “Don’t make oaths like that, little brother.”

“It’s fine.” Mark reassured her. “I’m a filthy half breed, no Shadowhunter honour and no faerie compulsions. My oaths are mine to keep or break.”

“You have more honour.” Helen said pointedly. “Than half the Clave does. Combined.”

“And you have more generosity.”

A few Hunters Mark knew, the quieter ones, not those who would wail at and whale on any hint of Shadowhunter they saw, approached, carrying clean clothes and a pot of tincture for Livvy.

“There’s a stream near here.” one of them, a dark skinned man Mark knew as one of best shots in the Hunt. Mark knew his name, but didn’t want to at that moment, every reminder of what they were doing, of the situation they were in made his head hurt. “Gwyn bade we bring you to it, so you can refresh yourselves.”

Mark looked at the others, dirty and tired and hurt. There was blood drying on their clothes, and dirt caught in Emma’s tangled hair. The Blackthorns rose as one and followed them, past sneering and suspicious Hunters. Gwyn had his own reasons for taking them it, but it would not sit well with most of the Hunt. Strays and Shadowhunters and children too small to mount a steed, that was what they saw. They must have thought him half mad.

The pool was deep in the woods, tranquil but chilly, and Mark watched Julian carve runes for protection from the cold onto Ty and Arthur and himself. Mark waved him aside and marked his own skin, trying to remember how you held a stele, how you let the runes flow from your core. It was still difficult, like re-remembering an old language, long forgotten. .

Helen had led the girls aside to the other side of the pool, for Emma’s sake among other things, which left only the problem of Tavvy. Julian fixed that by marking a stone with a heat rune and tossing it into the shallowest part of the water, so it warmed enough for their baby brother to get in without catching his death. It felt automatic, the responses in the face of such an unprecedented situation.

Jules had Tavvy well in hand, so Mark let himself float and soak, long after the others had finished rinsing the dirt from their limbs. His gear was mostly still intact, just blood soaked, so he dried off and put it back on before regrouping with his family.

They were a motley lot. Livvy’s shirt was tattered, but the side of her overcoat had escaped harm, so she had cut the sleeves off and was wearing it over a too big faerie tunic, black rune marked lambs skin over light forest dyed fabric. Ty had switched out his neat professorly shoes, long wrecked by the events of the past few days, for light boots (an impressive enough find on their own, the Hunt wasn’t given to footwear) and had added a jacket like autumn leaves, but he was still stubbornly wearing his sweater vest.

Dru’s sweater had been shortened for Tavvy, since he hadn’t been wearing one and was too small for any Hunter’s, and she was wearing a tattered green cloak that brought out her eyes. She was also sporting filthy pink sneakers. Uncle Arthur looked unchanged, but he’d had to take off his bloodstained suit coat, and put it with most of Emma’s gear which had also needed to be washed in cold water, and was a soaking pile in Ty’s arms. Rather than accept any of the faerie clothes she had appropriated a few of Helen’s extraneous layers that she had still been wearing when they’d had to leave.

Julian alone had to completely abandon his wardrobe. His lanky frame and wild curls suited a hunter’s colors and layers too well, in Mark’s opinion.

“Mark, you look like you just murdered someone.” Livvy said frankly.

Mark looked down at his bloodstained gear. He hadn’t actually fought much, but Livvy had been leaning against him most of the way from the Institute.

“I know, but I don’t want-” he didn’t want to backslide. He had made his choice, to be a Blackthorn if not a Shadowhunter. The uniform of the Wild Hunt would have felt all too familiar.

“We’ll wash everything tonight and leave it to dry for tomorrow.” Julian promised. “In the meantime you need clothes.”

Mark nodded, and went back to strip and put on the nearest things available. What he came up with was one of Kieran’s recognizable white shirts. Mark scowled, and then put it on anyway. It smelled of forget me nots and ice.

Shadowhunter clothes were enchanted to wash easily, so he tossed them in the river, swirled them around a few times, hit the bad stains with a rock, and called it a day. The Hunt would mind the gear much more than the blood. Carrying the leftover clothing and his soaking pile of leather, he headed back to the clearing.

It felt so easy. Bath, wash your clothes, come back, eat, return to the Hunt. Be a Hunter. But Helen was braiding Emma’s hair in front of the roaring bonfire as Hunters watched wary, and Julian was playing with Tavvy next to her.

Mark settled behind Helen on the ground, Livvy had appropriated one of the only sittable branches and no one had joined her. “Can I do your hair?” he asked. It was shorter than it had been when they had been young, but there was still enough to work with. Helen nodded and straightened her back a little so he could work.

The Hunt wore braids too, but they were different, thin, decorative, and complex. Shadowhunter braids were strong and practical, and pinned up against the scalp so no enemy could use them against you. He had no pins, but he made do, looping and twisting Helen’s honey coloured hair until it twisted tightly in three french braids that ended at the nape of her neck, held together with nothing but hair and few bobby pins that had survived their ordeal. He hoped it was sturdy.

When he looked up Kieran was watching him.

The Hunters had let the Blackthorns have a fraction of the fireside, and now the two groups seemed to have settled on ignoring each other. It couldn’t last, but they were in the mortal realm for now, and they were staying still, so hopefully there wouldn’t be any of the controlled chaos that marked the Hunt’s revels. Iolo, Gwyn’s best lieutenant, seemed to be supervising, and his gaze was stern. Mark wondered how much the Hunt was in shock, and how much they simply thought they had to behave.

Kieran sat on the edge of the Blackthorn bubble, armoured, feet bare, and hair a colour Mark had to admit was quite striking, even if it did make him look like his head was poisonous. He was observing, stone faced, the tight knot of Shadowhunters, and Mark.

Mark tugged on Helen’s hair one more time, and stepped aside. She was still working on Emma’s mess, combing it out carefully and patiently. Mark wondered where she had gotten the comb. He also hoped that would teach Emma better than to pick fights with Gwyn. She could have ended up with much worse than a few tangles and bruises.

He stepped back, away from the fire and toward the treeline, wondering where they were. Canada, he decided, or northern Europe. Sweden maybe, it was cold. Kieran didn’t take long to follow him, so he didn’t have time to puzzle it out.

“You’re wearing my shirt.”

Mark shrugged. “There was a pile of clothes, I picked the first things that would fit.”

“I should not complain.” Kieran said. “It’s nice to see you in proper clothes again. Have you finally given up on your game of house and remembered that the Hunt does not leave you?”

Mark remembered how Kieran had first been described to him by one of the other hunters as ‘a delightful brat’. And while his hauteur and airs certainly had their place his attitude…. Mark had forgotten how grating it could be. Sometimes, not always but sometimes, it seemed Kieran was most tolerable when you were kissing him.

“I made my choice, to stay with my family. And while I do have regrets, I am not about to reverse it.” Mark told him.

“And yet you come crawling back to us.”

“The Unseelie King owed us a favour, after our actions.” Mark said, trying to keep his temper. “We asked for protection and he asked Gwyn to shelter us.”

Kieran huffed, and looked back to the fire. “Your sister is very pretty.” he said, and Mark knew that he was just trying to be difficult. The trick was to not rise to his bait.

“She is. She’s also very married, and not your type.”

“You don’t know what my type is, Shadowhunter.”

Mark snapped. “And here I thought I was still a Hunter, until the end of time. And I do know your type, and it’s not Helen, because Helen had a political position and was taking care of our brothers and sisters at eighteen, then got married a year later, meanwhile you act like a child whenever anyone dares to not pay attention to you.”

Kieran’s gaze grew cold. “I’m older than you are and you know it. Mayhaps I am angry, that you have left the Hunt as if you didn’t see that you would only be driven away by your people again, angry that you chose a pack of rabid dogs playing at holiness over us.”

“I didn’t choose the Clave.” Mark whispered. “I chose my family, and Kieran I cared deeply for you, but the choice I made was true.”

“It was stupid!” Kieran snapped. “A poor choice, by all accounts, and an even poorer one by mine. You think this will last, your asylum here? Gwyn has never been much for conflict, and you and yours will bring it down on him. My father harbours you to anger the Clave, he would no doubt kill you just as quick for as much a cause, and who knows when he might change his mind? You have chosen a brief and tumultuous exile when you could have had a life, and I question your intelligence for it. Those Shadowhunter brats will manage a day, perhaps two, in the Hunt, so I would guess.”

Mark flinched. It was what he worried about himself, his sweet angel blooded siblings among the Hunt, where they would be a hated a hundred times more than he. His family, at the mercy of the Fair Folk, and worse, at the mercy of politics. The children he had known as soft babies, they could not stand the wind.

He looked back, at them, now eating the meat that had been roasting over the fire. He worried for a second, but between Ty and Uncle Arthur they were probably safe. He saw Tavvy’s resilient smile, and Ty’s defiant sweater vest, and Emma’s smouldering anger, Helen’s grace and Livvy’s granite solidity.

We are tempered by fire and it makes us strong, a Carstairs saying. Emma liked it. If they could be tempered by fire they could afford to be tempered by a storm for a while.

“I think,” Mark informed Kieran, “That we’ll manage far better than you assume. Now, if you don’t mind I need to get back to my family.” He paused, softened. “You’re welcome to accompany me back and meet them if you like, provided you’re civil.”

Kieran’s hair darkened, as did his expression. “You’ll find I have no need to lower myself to playing gently with Nephilim toddlers, Mark Blackthorn. We’ll see if you’re right, will we?”

Mark felt another surge of newfound surety flood him. “We shall see.” He spun and went back to the fire, trying to ignore Kieran’s palpable outrage behind him. A delightful brat indeed.

* * *

 

“The food is safe.” Liv assured him as soon as he was near her. “We made sure.”

“I trust you did.” Mark promised. “How are things?”

Livvy looked around. The Hunters seemed to have given up on glaring and were working on going about their business. There was a fair amount of drinking. The Hunt was not as pretty as the Seelie Court, nor even as civilized as the Unseelie, and the was saying something. What it was, was old. Very, very old. Every monster in the shadows, every gale through the forest at night, that was the Hunt. They wandered battlefields and reaped the dead, and that did not make for gentility. It was, in a word, Wild.

There tended to be a lot of alcohol and meat, Mark found.

Livvy looked back at him. “My side is healing well. I guess what they say about faerie medicine is true.”

“And… are you feeling well other wise?”

“Ty is worried about Church.” she said in a soft voice.

Mark flinched. Their cat, their literally demonic cat, of all things. But it was just like Ty. “And you?”

She paused, then admitted as carefully as others spoke of devastating secrets, “I’m worried about Diana and Cristina and Aline. And Church.”

“I-” Mark started. It was his fault, all of it. His and Helen’s, but mostly his. Swift, stern Diana, Cristina who had soft eyes, and Helen’s best beloved, Raziel knew where they were, how they had fared after they pushed the Blackthorns out the back door. “They’re very smart, I’m sure they’ll be fine. Besides, we’re the real criminals here.”

Livvy gave him a withering look, purely on principle. He could tell she didn’t mean it much. “You should eat.” she said tactfully, clearly not ready to get into a conversation about feelings. Mark was both grateful and concerned.

Still, he took his portion and started eating, remembering the taste of the food of the Hunt, perfectly cooked and never quite real, like if smoke and blood had become a food on their own. It tasted the same as ever.

“Do you mind it?” he asked Livvy, pointing at his plate.

She shook her head. “Food is food. We’ll be fine.”

He was so proud of them.

One of the Hunters was watching them from across the fire. Dietrich, Mark remembered. He was a reliable sort, and he had always been kind to Mark, had treated him well in the early days before Mark had learned how to act like a proper member of the Hunt. Solid, sensible, and curious. Always a question about something or another. He would wonder about the new faces around their fire, so clearly not belonging.

Mark remembered Dietrich gently tracing his runes, asking questions about things other faeries wouldn’t. He would be a good place to start.

Mark waved, a greeting rather than an imperative, hoping to open the lines of communication. It was a human thing to do, he knew that much, and he hoped it would work.

After a few minutes and some significant staring it did, and Dietrich sidled around the fire, broke the unspoken, invisible wall between the Blackthorns and the rest of the Hunt, and stood in front of Mark.

“It is good to have you back among us.” he said as way of greeting, and Mark stood to kiss his cheek, the casual meaningless affection of people who trampled the centuries together.

“I am glad to see you again.” Mark said truthfully, “Though not for the reasons we have came. This is my sister, Dietrich, and she is a friend of the Hunt.”

Livvy stood, clearly aware of all the eyes on her. Julian and Helen were watching carefully, and Emma had her hand on Cortana’s hilt. Even the Hunt had quieted a little to observe.

“Always nice to meet a friend of my brother’s.” she said frostily.

“You are not Mark’s sister in full.” Dietrich observed.

“We’re half siblings.” Livvy said, crossing her arms. “But we’re still family.”

“And I have heard you came to us to escape your Clave.”

“We did. They would have taken Mark from us.” Like you did, she didn’t say, but it was clear from her tone.

“Well, I am glad to have met Mark’s sister.” Dietrich decided. “Who would come to us, despite her anger, for his sake.”

That was Dietrich, thoughtful and sensible and kind. Mark smiled.

“And I’m glad,” Livvy said, “To meet anyone who values his wellbeing. Would you like to sit with us?”

There was a sigh from the watching crowd as Dietrich sat on the fallen branch they were perched on.

“I see you have more of your angel’s marks, Mark.” Dietrich said. “May I see them?”

Mark held out his arm, and let Dietrich inspect the assortment of runes laid across it, then did the same with the other. When he finished the Hunter looked quietly content, absently tracing a rune as Mark used his other hands to keep eating.

“The others are very quiet.” Mark commented. “What makes them afraid to start a fight?”

Dietrich looked up, clear eyes wide and mouth pursed in thought. “I would say, Mark, that it is the fact that Gwyn has made it very clear that any who cannot keep a civil tongue should keep it still. It came as a surprise to many.”

Mark nodded. Even if you had Gwyn’s favour, he tended to let the Hunt sort out disputes on their own. It must have ruffled some feathers, such a clear declaration of protection. There were some among the Hunt who were not well dispositioned to Nephilim, to say the least.

Dietrich’s long fingers on his forearm were almost soothing, and the crackle of smoke and Livia’s silent companionship certainly was.

“It’s a courage in combat rune.” Ty’s voice said softly from near Livvy. Dru was next to him, or rather, behind him, looking at Dietrich warily, even as Ty addressed him.

Mark smiled. “Dietrich, this is Tibs and Dru, my brother and sister.”

“Well met.” Dietrich said politely.

“See,” Ty said, reaching out to touch the rune pressed into Mark’s skin. “This swirl at the bottom? And how the lines leave a empty space up here? It almost looks like a lizard. Uncle Arthur thinks they’re meant to represent things, not just words but concepts. Like it almost looks like a dragon, here?”

Dietrich nodded. “Interesting. I might ask Vold, for he knows how runes were used in his realm once.”

In front of Mark there was a footstep and he looked up from the two Hunters, one Wild and one Shadow, both pouring over his skin, to see Waul, one of the oldest members of the Hunt, and a mild soul despite his taste for the wind, standing over him.

“You can show Dietrich your own marks, Ty.” Mark said, pulling himself away and standing to greet Waul, and then two more Hunters, interested in hearing exactly why the Blackthorns were breaking bread with them.

Mark explained as mildly as possible and watched Livvy’s sharp tongue do the rest, her quick, bitter comments about the Clave and the visible bandages on her arm making the Hunters relax. Dru leaned into him, listening with a distant look in her eyes, though Mark knew from experience that she was picking up every word. To their right Julian wrangled Uncle Arthur while Helen managed Tavvy and Emma kept a close watch on the proceedings, though as long as Mark nodded to her everytime she looked at him she seemed content to just watch, her arm loosely entwined with Julian’s.

Even Jan, who was sort of awful in his own way and not much in favor with the other Hunters, came over briefly to chat. It was going… remarkably well. The Hunters were still on their edge about anyone Nephilim born, and Dru’s still baby face meant the conversation was decidedly muted from the raucous that was usually winding up as the sun began to set, but it was amiable.

Mark mentioned Dru was their storyteller and Jarovit offered Dru a handful of late cranberries found in the woods in return for a story, which caught almost everyone’s attention. Faeries loved a story well told, but not being able to lie made literature a challenge for them.

She recited a poem she liked about a dead girl and her lover, which was morbid and went over well. Mark knew they were being patronized, because curiosity necessitated being gentle with the Shadowhunters and a widespread dislike of the Clave meant taking their side. Still, Dru took her prize with a blush and an over the top bow, and Mark decided some patronization could be tolerated if it meant people were getting along.

He had no idea where Kieran was, probably sulking somewhere, but that was fine. Mark didn’t need to rub his face in it, he’d hear eventually.

“Mark?” Julian said, from next to Berchtold. There were only about half a dozen Hunters around them, and Julian quickly came into view. He was holding Uncle Arthur’s hand. “I think we probably should go to bed.” he said. “Or at least Uncle Arthur should.”

Uncle Arthur nodded. “I’ve been having the strangest dream.” he said. “We were somewhere out of a story, but I hadn’t any paper to take notes.”

The Hunt knew madness, however gentle the specters were.

“I can take you to a place to sleep.” said Ebernberg helpfully. He had been human once, and like the other once mortals among the Hunt, he had a slightly more straightforward way about him.

“Thought it is early in the night.” said Jarovit, who seemed like he was eyeing another story.

Ty piped up. “It’s five in the afternoon.”

Julian nodded. “You guys can stay up a little later then, but I’m going to take Uncle Arthur to bed.”

“I’ll come help you.” Livia offered.

“I really don’t need-”

“I insist.” Livvy said.

Arthur reached down and patted Mark’s cheek. “Make sure the children eat breakfast, will you?” he said. “I’m afraid I’m not feeling well.”

Mark said he’d try.

The buddy system, Mark thought as the three of them left with Ebernberg. Two fully functional Shadowhunters at all times. It was the sort of precaution Dad and Eleanor had taken when they were little and all shopping, and though he knew it was practical he rather resented the mistrust of the Hunt.

Dru tapped his shoulder. “I’m going to go get Tavvy and Helen and Emma.” she said. “They should meet everyone.”

“If you think it’s a good idea.” Mark said softly back, ignoring their audience.

She nodded. “Emma is angry, she needs to talk to people, it’s only smart.” she whispered back, and there was a titter from the Hunter’s. Mark caught Dru’s glancing look back. She liked words on paper better than grand acting, but she was a younger sister and that meant being a performer to one extent or another, he thought, as she graciously excused herself and pushed past faeries twice her size to get the rest of her family.

Tavvy was clinging to Emma like he was one again and going through his inexplicable and highly short lived phase where he got freaked out by sand and had to be carried down the beach to the water. There was meat juice down his shirt, and Emma’s hair hiding his face.

Emma seemed to be taking the burden of an eight year old with dignity, but she swiftly took her chance to be rid of him.

“Tavvy, look, there’s Mark, you like Mark. Why don’t you go to Mark?”

Octavian considered this, eyes brighter than one would have expected given what he’d been through, and when Emma stepped closer to Mark as if to tempt him, he threw himself at Mark’s chest.

Mark felt the air leave his lungs and once he was sure they weren’t going to fall off the log, looked at Tavvy’s face, very close to his.

“Hey.” he said.

“Hi.” Tavvy parroted back, before settling on his lap.

“Dru’s talking to Helen.” Emma said, looking around, taking in the assembled Hunters and Ty, who was still talking quietly with Dietrich and a few others, possibly giving away Shadowhunter trade secrets, but at this point did it matter? Knowing Ty he had probably maneuvered them into discussing bees.

“Your friends?” Emma asked, rolling her head so the gesture encompassed the Hunters as a whole.

“The little duelist joins us at last.” Berchtold said. Mark saw Emma bristle. Despite some shared interests, she had far too much of a temper to be a Hunter, and far too much of her own mind.

“I hope we’re all friends.” Mark said, trying to defuse things. “To be among enemies makes for a poor supper.”

“Yeah.” Emma said. “And to be among patronizing jackasses makes for a far worse one. Let’s get this out of the way. I did get into a fist fight with your leader, end of story. Let’s move on, it’s in the past.”

“I thought you Shadowhunters were supposed to love your histories.” someone called.

Emma smiled. “Shadowhunters also aren’t supposed to hang out with faeries, much less a mysterious whirlwind of magical Robin Hood grim reapers, but here we are. We really are special, aren’t we?”

“Emma.” came a warning voice, soft and sweet and Helen. She didn’t have to push through the Hunters, they parted for her like the sea. Mark supposed she startled them, with her delicately pointed ears and her so distinctly Shadowhunter manner, and her face that mirrored his so closely. There were only one or two women in the Hunt, and none of them were quite like Helen.

“I know it sounds overly defensive, but they definitely started it.” Emma said, but she looked more relaxed. Mark supposed she counted Helen as a responsible adult, whereas he was still to-be-rescued-Mark.

“It doesn’t matter who started it, we’re guests so we’re going to be polite. Sorry to break up your party, baby brother.” Helen said. “But Dru insisted I ought to come over.” For the first time since they had been reunited Mark felt like they were on the same level again, the way they had been when they were children. Helen meant, ‘Dru knows what you’re doing and told me, and I don’t disapprove but she also thinks you need backup.’

There was something else too, something about her tone that reminded Mark of when they were young and on missions and Helen always made a point to kiss him on the cheek or call him by some embarassing made up nickname whenever they met someone new. It felt like his older sister embarrassing him in front of his friends, terribly domestic and yet comforting.

“This is my older sister, Helen, who shares a mother with me.” Mark said, rather superfluously. “And Emma, who has the heart of a warrior, and the everything else of a warrior as well.”

“And a child.” Jarovit pointed out, as Dru sat back down next to Mark and started passing Tavvy some of her cranberries. Mark was increasingly starting to feel the real sticking point among the Hunters was not the presence of hated Nephilim, or even the fact that small number of women in the Hunt had just tripled. They seemed most concerned by the fact that their host now contained two medium small people.

“And Tavvy.” Mark confirmed.

“Who is going to crash out in about an hour.” Emma said. “So you won’t have to worry about him wandering around and making trouble for much longer.”

“I won’t” Tavvy said, injured, even as he wiggled out of Mark’s arms and made a beeline for Helen. “And I’m not trouble.”

“You are our favorite trouble.” Emma conceded. Tavvy beamed as he bounced on the balls of his feet, and Mark realized that Emma was right, he was running on the last vestiges of the last minute exhaustion adrenaline rush.

That seemed to settle it, though the Hunters still looked discombobulated by the babies in the picture, they weren’t fazed for long, and soon a few people were wrestling on the other side of the fire, someone had brought out the alcohol, and Dru was telling another story. Mark thought he recognized some of the plot elements from somewhere, but he couldn’t place it. Some silly movie they had all watched as children, when Dad and Eleanor were eager to get them sitting down for a while.

There were still a lot of things that slipped his mind, even with his family in front of him.

* * *

 

“Why don’t you go find Jules?” he asked Emma at some point, when the sun had fully set and the fire was roaring and there was cranberry juice on his tongue., when they had stopped being the spectacle and had merely become a part of it, “You clearly want to.”

“I promised him I’d stay to look after you.” Emma said.

Mark had snorted. “Because clearly Helen and I, despite being older than you little ones, can’t take care of ourselves. It’s because we’re blonde, isn’t it?”

“I’m blonde, Blackthorn. It would be like the blind leading the blind.”

“But the thing is…” Mark said, trying to remember how the jokes went, the ones that Emma would punch anyone but him and Helen for making. “When a blonde tries to lead a blonde they just end up going in circles.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “That was bad.”

Mark shrugged. A minute later Emma spoke again. “Jules is worried about you. He’s worried they’ll lose you again, here.”

Mark knew the others were listening. Emma knew too. He shrugged again, feeling his shoulders roll like the plumes of smoke above them. “I made my choice, and I got you all into trouble for it. It would be a cowardly thing, to abandon you at this juncture.”

“As long as you don’t abandon them at any juncture. They love you Mark.”

“And I love them.” Mark said, all too aware of how weak his words were in this company, how his promises were dry grass twine compared to the promises of a faerie. How being human meant always having to doubt, and how Emma no doubt doubted, on his brother’s behalf.

Beside them Helen was singing under her breath to Tavvy, who, true to promise, had hit his breaking point and was slumping next to her. The long syllables sounded like nonsense, made no sense in any human tongue. It was a song Helen and Mark had carried with them from the place they lived as children, from their mother. It was only in the Hunt that he had learned it was a faerie riddle song, in a language humans had stopped speaking millennia ago. He could see Hunters’ face softening as Helen mouthed unknowingly the same song some of them had grown up with.

Mark knew Kieran had grown up with it, at least.

‘What is soft, and made of clothes, others have left, to lie on the ground?’ he translated in his head, tapping to the rhythm. ‘It is your pillow, and here is your bed. Lie your head, little child.’ Even sung lies were hard for the fae, but riddles suited themselves to a lullabye well.

Suddenly Emma was moving, a whirl of Helen’s dark clothes cut by a slice of blonde hair, as she made her way to Ty’s small salon. Mark vaulted to his feet and followed her, arriving just in time to watch her pull a rough wooden goblet from his hands.

“It’s fine.” Ty complained, lips tight in way that used to mean, probably still meant, that he was trying to self regulate a meltdown.

“Your brother would have a heart attack.” Emma scolded. “Or at least get closer to one. We’re trying to preserve his health, not wreck it. I’m trying to be the cool friend, here, but seriously Ty, no.”

Ty’s eyes narrowed. “What about when you and Julian had to take Uncle Arthur’s whisky away and ended up drinking it? You were only fourteen then.”

“Well, I’m a gigantic hypocrite.” Emma said, with a sad nod, and there was a giggle from one of the Hunters. “You’re unfortunate to have such poor role models as I, but what can be done?”

Ty frowned and Mark cursed his memory. Tiberius could argue a point for hours, convinced that if he worked hard enough he’d win people over to his point of view, when all it usually did was work him into a tizzy.

Mark stepped in. “Ty, listen to Emma. Despite her numerous character flaws she is right. Now is not the time for merrymaking.”

“What about when you were twelve and Dad let you have a sip of wine and you kept sneaking sips until you threw up?” Ty said, eliciting another giggle. Mark was glad his former fellows were deriving such joy from his predicament.

“We expect you to be morally better than us.” Emma said firmly.

“Besides, we probably need to start preparing for bed. Drag Dru away from her crowd of fairy tale aficionados, that sort of thing.” Mark said, and realized as he spoke that he was right.

“It’s only seven.” Ty said, confusion clear in his furrowed brow.

Mark sighed. “Tibs, you’re smarter than this. What time do the faeries ride?”

“Between the hours of twelve and one.” Ty answered promptly, recognition dawning on his face. Emma whirled on Mark.

“I’m sorry, when?”

“Twelve to one, like Ty just told you.”

Emma blinked. “Mark, I realize you’ve been away for a while, but Tavvy and Dru need more than five hours of sleep. I need more than five hours of sleep. We really need to get them to bed.”

“Say your goodbyes, Tibs.” Mark ordered, cursing his stupidity.

“I’ll get Dru if you grab Helen.” Emma offered, and Mark nodded. Time passed strangely in Faerie, but nothing could quite beat the both fleeting and infinite gap between post dinner rest and when you had to start wrestling children into pajamas, not now that he had begun to remember it.

* * *

 

“Mark?”came Tavvy’s soft voice, the faintest of sounds wading into Mark’s shallow dreams.

He sat up, careful not to disturb Tiberius, napping a few feet away. The tent was more of an awning of leaves and cloth, with little in the way of sides, and he could still see the light of the roaring fire, see the trees and a slice of stars. Still, it was big enough to sleep nine with only a little squishing, and the floor was soft, and it was warm. Tavvy was standing over him, eyes wide.

“What is it?” Mark asked, wondering why Tavvy had come to him, not Julian or Emma. It wasn’t unwelcome, but it was unexpected.

“I need to go to the bathroom.” Tavvy said in the same whisper. “Do you know where I can go?”

The woods, was the best answer, but Mark wasn’t about to send a child there alone. He sprang to his feet lightly. “I’ll take you.” he murmured in what he hoped was a comforting tone. “Come on.”

Blackthorns were scattered across the floor, Uncle Arthur in a corner, curled up on himself and sleeping fitfully, Helen half upright against a tent pole with Livvy clinging to her hand as though their oldest sister would evaporate like the morning dew, Jules and Emma twined around each other like codependent ivy.

The last was a particularly impressive feat given that they had started out on opposite sides of the tent.

Mark moved lightly and guided Tavvy around their dozing family and out into the starlight. Across the clearing the Hunt had gotten into full swing, and he could hear them, the laughter and cries of delight and occasional shrieks. The idea of joining them was more tempting than Mark would have thought. The Hunt wasn’t a place for thought or doubt, at least not at the lower levels. Gwyn could think, but they were just the arrows of the archer.

The forest was calmer, dark and dim, and Mark took them a way away from the Hunt’s place of residence, the better not to disturb things best left untouched. Tavvy was stumbling as tjey walked back, and Mark finally gave in and picked him up.

Jules might not have approved of people carrying around their brother all the time, but Emma did it, and it felt comforting to feel Tavvy’s thin arms around his neck, his head coming to rest on Mark’s shoulder.

He almost didn’t notice the footsteps in the forest.

Mark ducked behind a tree and evaluated things. Two people, walking airily enough to be fae, but without the care that suggested they were trying to be sneaky. Voices as well, talking indistinctly in the woods. Probably not following him then.

Tavvy stirred and Mark ran an instinctive hand through his hair, a wordless reassurance, then went to go investigate.

This was the Wild Hunt’s domain for now, he was a guest full and he wore Hunter’s eyes. He could afford to be nosy, he hoped.

As he moved forward, as silently as one could in a dark forest while carrying an unsteady burden, the voices sharpened, became more familiar.

Kieran arguing with Gwyn while trying to pretend he wasn’t arguing was a well known noise.

“Kieran, I have no need to unmake my choices to you.” Gwyn admonished. “I try to do so out of respect, for you and your family, but it is not your right to know the reasons behind what I have done.”

“But I must ask.” Kieran said in a tone Mark recognized as ‘taking the moral highground’ “Out of concern for my fellow Hunters. You would bring the Nephilim down of their heads, for what?”

“Many of the same reasons your father chose to take much the same course, Kieran. And for Mark.”

Mark stilled, worried he had been seen, but neither of the speakers gave any sign.

Kieran made a face, and barrelled onward. “My father wants a war, now rather than later, out of fear of the monsters he sees under his bed. And he hopes by provoking it this way the Nephilim will strike first, and the Seelie Court will take most of the damage. But you are not a warmonger, Gwyn ap Nudd, nor do you fear some unspoken threat.”

“You are always bold, Kieran.” Gwyn said, “Especially now, to tell me what I do and do not fear.”

Kieran leaned back. “I am sorry to assume. But- I do worry, why those closest to me seem to have taken simultaneous leave of their senses.”

“Until you abandon youth’s arrogance, I fear you will not understand most of the causes of what you call our madness.” Gwyn said kindly. “But I should think you would understand, why we could not leave Mark.”

“He left us.”

“And yet he still bears our sign. The Hunt is not a game for children, and it is older than you or Mark Blackthorn, older than much of Faerie, as am I. Mark has taken a leave of absence, yes, and I do not begrudge him it, for it was your own father who made it available. But he is still a Hunter, and it would take old magic to change that. And so though I have released him from my service, I still owe him loyalty, and safety from those who would hurt him, and safety for those who have protected one of our own.”

Gwyn gently brushed the tips of his fingers across Kieran’s cheekbones. “So you see, little prince, I was obligated on all accounts to take him and his kin in. The fact that I do take pleasure from their company so far, and think they will do the Hunt a measure of good is the gilding on it. Now, if you and Mark are feuding, I would suggest you go speak to him yourself.”

Kieran’s lip curled. “I hope you aren’t suggesting I wake the little Nephilim from their slumber. It would be unhostly.”

Gwyn sighed. “Mark!” he called.

Mark started and Tavvy made a whimpering sound, leading Mark to realize he’d probably heard everything and was now old enough to remember it. So much for being a fine older brother.

Hiding from Gwyn wasn’t really an option, so Mark whispered a few reassurances in Tavvy’s ear and stepped around the handful of trees separating him from the two of them.

Gwyn smiled. “Mark, I see you’re taking the angelborn babe out for a moonlit walk. In the future, kindly don’t eavesdrop. It’s political and the Hunt is not the place for politics.” Tavvy had twisted around to look at the two faeries and Mark saw Gwyn give him a tiny, surprisingly non threatening, wave, before continuing. “Kieran, could you help these two back to the clearing? Mark can handle himself, I’m sure, but I’d rather we not lose our young guest.”

Kieran briefly seemed to consider spontaneous combustion through sheer anger, before sliding into comfortable disdain. “No, we wouldn’t want that. Thank you for your comforting words, Gwyn.”

“I am always glad to bring comfort to a young Hunter in distress.” Gwyn said. “Kieran, Mark, little Blackthorn, I bid you goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” Tavvy muttered, tired and confused and clearly a bit scared, as Gwyn walked off into the forest.

“Shall we go?” Kieran asked coldly.

Mark tried to smile, and found it easier than he had expected, as long as he did it the faerie way, all gloss and glisten and the delicate art of lying with the body. “You can go back to bed soon Tavvy.” he said lowly. “Sorry about the disturbance.”

“‘S fine.” Tavvy said, watching Kieran with sleep bright eyes. “I can stay up if you want to talk.”

Kieran tilted his head and Mark found his smile slipping. He couldn’t factor Tavvy into how it had been before, into being a faerie, and he couldn’t quite remember how to be human properly yet. “No, you need to sleep. Julian would be wroth if I kept you up. Let’s go.”

They walked quietly through the woods, as Tavvy’s head swung unsteadily between the two of them and Mark desperately hoped he wouldn’t say anything.

Blessedly they hit the clearing, and Tavvy stayed quiet, and Mark put him down and held his hand as they walked back to the open tent, Kieran keeping stride with them easily.

“Go inside and go to sleep.” Mark urged Tavvy when they neared it.

Tavvy swayed on his feet and nodded. “Night Mark, love you.” he said earnestly. “Night.” he told Kieran with a more dubious look.

“I love you as well.” Mark said quickly before Kieran could comment, and gently pushed Tavvy towards the tent, then watched as he burrowed his way between Julian and Emma expertly.

When he looked back to Kieran, Kieran was already beating a hasty retreat.

“Stop.” Mark pleaded, trying to keep his voice low. “I want to talk.”

“We talked.” Kieran said lightly. “Several times. It ended poorly.”

“We were angry.” Mark said, stepping away from his family so as not to wake them. “It might be of benefit to try talking when we’re not angry, if we could try not being angry now.”

“It might be of benefit.” Kieran echoed, and Mark wasn’t sure if it was mocking or agreeable.

He took another few steps towards Kieran, and Kieran didn’t back away. Mark found a knoll, not far away from the tent and settled himself on it, kept his eyes forward as he heard Kieran sit.

“I said I loved you once and I meant it truly.” Mark said finally.

“Did you? It’s so hard to tell with you, is it not?”

“Well, you’ll have to take my word for it.” Mark said. “It’s what humans do. I meant it truly, and I might still mean it now. You are not without your charms, though you are not without your faults either. And you were here for me when I was alone among strangers, you were the least strange among them and for that I will always be grateful.”

“But you were not here of your own accord.” Kieran finished. “And so you took your first chance to go back to your Nephilim, knowing all but those closest to you would chase you out, knowing you would bring ruin on your family, and still doing it, for that is how the Nephilim love. Fickle and destructive, angels were not built for affection, Mark.”

“Then neither are you.” Mark pointed out. “You call us angel children but your own myths give you the same origin.”

Kieran shrugged. “We have lasted millennia, meanwhile the Nephilim seem to be self destructing after a handful of centuries, and have brought fire and ashes to this world more than any before. Tell me then whose angel blood has made them monsters, Mark Blackthorn? But this is not about blood, is it?”

“No,” Mark admitted, feeling the gentle ebb and flow of faerie conversation come back to him. It felt like a gentle rain after weeks of storms. This was subtlety. “We can argue that later, perhaps. I wanted to make sure you know. I do still love you, for what you have given me. For all your little kindnesses, and your cruelties. I think I love you still, despite your massive attitude problem and tendency to lash out at those closest to you. I know the shape of your heart and I have grown used to it.”

Kieran stilled, like a cat about to pounce. “And what does that mean?”

“Not as much as one might hope. If I could leave my family before I certainly cannot now. I owe them more than ever, as you said, I brought ruin down on them myself. And I love them, for I know the shape of their hearts, and even after all these years they are dear to me in a way I can’t help.” Mark felt his throat clench. “They are still my choice. But that doesn’t diminish that I loved you once, and I appreciate what you gave me.”

“It simply means that you love them more.” Kieran said with a dark satisfaction, and Mark wondered, not for the first time, how Kieran had grown up, that he always needed to be first in everyone’s heart and attentions.

“They’re my family.” Mark admitted. “They loved me, and I was not there when they needed me most. If I could not do that for them, at least I can be here if they want me now.”

“And if they don’t?” Kieran asked, as if mirroring Mark’s own questions.

Mark bit his lip. “I don’t want to bring them more grief, but I do wish to be near them. And I don’t think you can change their mind on the matter, and I would much resent if you tried. The point is, that I’m sorry you’re upset, and I want you to understand why I acted as I did.”

Kieran was quiet for a moment.

“Gwyn would like us to make up.” he said finally. “Perhaps merely because he wants me to stop bothering him. But I do not see how I can ignore that I’ve been thrown over for a bunch of children who want you to be merely another good Shadowhunter, who don’t see what else you can be.”

Thrown over, he sounded like a regency novel, Mark thought. It was human sort of thought, an old Mark sort of thought and he put it aside to appreciate later. “They see the Shadowhunter and you see the faerie, in that you are alike.” he pointed out. “But I have been both and I can never be one or the other.” It felt strange to say, blasphemous, even, but it was true.

“The Hunt is meant to erase everything.” Kieran said. “We’ve had humans here before, after a while they stop being so.”

“The Hunt is meant to erase everything, and yet you are still a prince.” Mark pointed out.

Kieran crossed his arms. “You know what I meant.”

“Some things can’t be erased. We are all still what we were, to some extent. Our names stay, and our minds. Faerie changes how you act and think, but not the tenets of your personality. And even it cannot fully erase memories. I always would have had them, in my mind and in my heart. They are as much a part of me as my blood is, and they never would have been gone.”

He let Kieran mull over that for a bit, and the mulling lasted longer than he expected. Finally a voice, gentle as the stars said. “I loved you. I do love you.”

Mark felt his breath catch. He had said it as well, but it sounded sweeter from Kieran’s tongue, promised truth as heady as wine. I love you was different in Faerie. The fae could not lie, yes, but neither did they pretend love was forever. Forever looked very different on the other side of mortality. To love was a delight, a joy, but not an obligation, at least ideally.

Kieran was one of the few faeries Mark had met who treated love like a thing to be coveted and protected, and in that he was more human than he liked to think.

Mark thought about Kieran’s sharp edges, his swift emotion, his strange vulnerability, about every little kindness, like a hand to hold in a snowstorm. The set of his shoulders, his smile. He wasn’t the kindest person, but he wasn’t abominable either, and Mark knew him enough to forgive him his failings in return for his voice like the dark quiet of the woods and his stubbornness, his way of moving and his quick tongue.

“I love you.” Mark said, trying out the words as though he could taste the lie on them. He felt nothing but a strange childish heaviness, as if his body no longer suited him.

“But what does it matter?” Kieran said, tossing his head back and staring at the sky. “Your decision is made.”

Mark thought about Cristina’s gentle hands, and his father’s kind words, reassuring things, calming things. Then he said something terribly faerie, or perhaps terribly human. Or perhaps both.

“I’m here now.”

Kieran was warmer than his cool demeanor suggested, the delicate leaves of armour that made up his greaves pressed into Mark’s back as they lay together. It was careful, more careful than any of the desperate trysts of long ago, the quiet anxiousness of children looking for comfort amid the chaos mostly gone.

Resignation was a strange spice for romance, but Mark found if he concentrated on the little things, Kieran’s hair, the sound of the wind, how gear felt pressed against fine armour and silky elf cloth, it was fine.

They had until midnight, and then…. things were up in the air. But the Blackthorns had nowhere else to go, so maybe they could stay, for a time.

Time wasn’t enough, but it would do.

* * *

 

Kieran disappeared as Mark went to wake his siblings, to help them gather their meager belongings, bundle up the clothes drying on the trees, and help a dazed Uncle Arthur up. It was one of his still days, rather than a storm day, which meant he was less likely to do anything drastic, but also that it was harder to get him moving. At least they didn’t have much to do, little to carry and no camp to dismantle. Mark knew from experience that the clearing would soon look like no one had ever been there, as though they were ghosts.

Illuminated by the moon they stumbled, all linked together like clockwork cogs, to where the hounds and horses had assembled, the dogs’ white shapes in the moonlight against the dark horses almost picturesque.

Gwyn sat like a king atop Du y Moroedd, but he seemed in a good temper, and Iolo and Kieran were behind him.

“Blackthorns.” Gwyn said. “Mark, we kept your steed, and I think a few of your kith and kin could ride with you. The others-” his smile was a slice of light in the dark, like a barely born moon but something made Mark think it was at least in part a act. “They seem to have gotten along well with the hunt this evening, I would think they could find several someones to travel with.”

Du y Moroedd could carry half a dozen, but Gwyn clearly had other plans, Mark turned to Jules.

“You take Uncle Arthur and Tavvy.” Julian said firmly, but he held himself like his vertebrae were made of fine china, a sure sign that he was stressed. Mark grabbed Tavvy’s hand, trying to distract himself from the sight of both parties watched each other expectantly. No one it seemed, wanted to speak first.

“I’m willing to take some of Mark’s family.” Kieran said, his voice like crystal in the witching hour silence. He slipped of his horse and walked over and offered his arm to Helen with a politeness that didn’t seem too forced. She gave Mark an indecipherable look before taking it graciously.

Jarovit moved next, offering Dru and Julian a lift, and then Dietrich wordlessly gestured the twins over. Gwyn must have been satisfied with that, because Iolo scooped Emma up, and that was that.

Dread always seemed a little ridiculous after the fact.

It was different, trying to ride with Uncle Arthur and Tavvy along with him. They were a lot to handle, even both still half asleep, but Mark respected that Julian had wanted to keep the two most vulnerable members of their family with someone who loved them. It was sensible, nobody trusted a Hunter.


End file.
